


Sweet Mother, I Cannot Weave

by MamaMystique



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: And I needed this in my life, Antiope is oblivious, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Hippolyta is amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 03:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaMystique/pseuds/MamaMystique
Summary: Aphrodite has overcome the entire Amazon army with longing for a General.Hippolyta is the only one to notice.





	Sweet Mother, I Cannot Weave

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this Tumblr post which sparked my absolute NEED for this: http://wishful-thinkment.tumblr.com/post/161583621328/in-a-similar-vein-to-the-headcanon-of-general

Admittedly it takes Hippolyta longer to realize what is transpiring than she cares to admit. In her own defense she cites her duties as Queen to some degree; but largely she blames the utter obliviousness of her sister.

Antiope could spot a butterfly resting on the complete opposite side of the island. Not only that, she could recall what species it would most likely be, where it’s nesting ground was, and if the flutter of it’s wings betrayed exhaustion or hunger. These very traits were keen in her eye - from one look she could determine your strength, your weakest side, and whether or not you had properly eaten for the day. It was utterly annoying in a sister, and utterly invaluable in a General.

This did not mean, however, that Antiope saw all.

Hippolyta first notices it in the small contingent of Amazons who trail after her sister. At first she merely thinks the gathering to be bodyguards (though why Antiope would insist on them, she did not know - they are safe here), and when it continues, each day with a group of different women, she chalks it up to a training exercise of some kind. Perhaps grooming some suitable lieutenants, or exposing them generously to the routine of a General.

But they follow her near everywhere; and when they chat, they do not discuss strategy, but rather pastimes. Specifically, Antiope’s. Surely they will be disappointed, Hippolyta presumes, when they find that Antiope is as likely to relax as the sea is to stop churning. Yet somehow they do, and much to the Queen’s surprise she overhears them excitedly discussing out of her sister’s earshot what her favorite cliffside view is, how she likes the sun there, how walking there at night can clear her head. Hardened warriors, some even taller and stronger than Hippolyta herself, giggling like children, smiles wide on their cheeks and eyes alight.

She does her best to put it out of her mind, makes herself content with asking Antiope why she thinks the army is delving so deeply into more...personal tastes, only to find herself unsatisfied with her sister’s reply of, “I believe them to be looking to model their own training and schedules around mine. Adaptation possibly.”

Adaptation? Hippolyta furrows her brows, striding out near that spot one night. Lo and behold, two Amazons await there, Leda and Niobe, both dressed in their silks and furs, with their hair braided prettily. They bow their heads to Hippolyta as she passes, and the Queen believes perhaps they are here for a romantic rendezvous of their own - until Leda calls to her after a moment of hesitation, asking if she has seen Antiope recently.

Hippolyta relays that she hasn’t - truly she hasn’t - admitting that the General had seemed intent to complete some reading that evening. The women smile, bow once more, then stride off in the direction of the island’s center. Towards their homesteads, maybe.

Towards the library, more likely.

And now Hippolyta’s hawken gaze is set upon them; them, she soon realizes, being more and more of the Amazon army.

During training they obey without question, and do not distract themselves with stolen glances. In fact, they seem to train with even more focus that Hippolyta has previously seen. Pushing themselves farther, faster, some days even beating Antiope to the training field to begin warming up.

On one such day Antiope is at her side, observing the women below beginning to select their training weapons for the day.

“They are a marvel, are they not sister?” Warmth pours from the General’s small grin, turning her head to face her, hair spilling over her shoulder to be caught in the breeze. “They unite as one to fight. Challenge themselves. Devise new strategies. I am very proud of them.”

Hippolyta hums in acknowledgment. “They seem driven as of late. Impassioned, even.” Her brow arches, a question of it’s own.

"The spirit of battle,” Antiope answers, looking back down upon the field, and though the Queen looks for concealed truths there are none displayed. She grew up alongside her, knows her better than anyone else, and she knows when she is lying. What concerns her is that Antiope isn’t. “A General could not pray for a better army.”

“Perhaps you inspire them.”

“They inspire me. I must keep up with them, lest I fall behind and leave them dissatisfied.”

“Oh,” Hippolyta purses her lips, “I very much doubt that will happen.”

Antiope clasps her hand around her sister’s shoulder, a reassuring and honest gesture. “I can only hope you are right.”

She jogs down in her combat leathers, her braid bouncing against her back, and Hippolyta is left with the lingering suspicion that despite her sister’s brilliance, she is an idiot when it comes to identifying romantic intentions.

Such feeling is confirmed not two days later, when Antiope answers Hippolyta’s summons to her council room with a sheen of sweat upon her skin and two violets woven into her hair. So startling is the image that Hippolyta finds herself unable to continue without questioning the additions.

“What are these?” She laughs, her fingertips brushing just above Antiope’s ear. “Sister, are you frolicking in the meadows?”

“What? Oh-” Antiope reaches up, touches the blossoms, then nods her head. “Cora found them this morning during our archery training. The women asked if they could give them to me as a gift, and when I said I could not hold them when firing my bow, they offered to put them in my hair.”

Hippolyta sighs internally. “And you accepted?”

“Of course. I do not like to receive coin or gifts for my service, but such small tokens I find allowable. The sentiment is what matters to me.”

“Naturally. And what sentiment do these convey?”

Antiope gives her a questioning look. “Gratitude, of course.”

It takes everything in Hippolyta to not roll her eyes. “Ah yes. Because violets are so often associated with gratitude…” she folds her arms, ever the eldest, “...and perhaps a certain lyrical poet…”

Her sister pauses, as if waiting for more. “...yes I...am familiar with Sappho.”

“And the love conveyed with violets between two women?”

The General narrows her eyes. “Obviously. And these do convey love, but one of respect for my teachings. I am their mentor. What does this have to do with your summons?”

Down to business then. Huffing gently, Hippolyta lays her palms upon Antiope’s shoulders. “Nothing, my beloved sister. Nothing at all. Now, come, I had hoped to ask about a certain ceremony for the upcoming holiday…”

And so it continues. Each day Hippolyta notices more and more; the women who offer Antiope their favorite books to borrow, those who bring her water despite the fact that she never calls for it, the ones who ask if they can clean her armor or repair her shield. Now there is not a day that her sister’s hair does not have a flower braided into it, small wild blossoms, colorful petals, and always, always violets. In return Antiope smiles, bows her head, offers idle, friendly touches to their arms; but never once does she perceive the utterly blatant flirtation. It is as if the woman is immune somehow; and Hippolyta finds herself stricken with the mischievous urge to see just how long, and how much it will take, before Antiope notices. 

The culmination of Hippolyta’s observations comes in the three-day-long festival of Aphrodisia, honoring Aphrodite. It is Hekatombaion - as is custom - and the altar to the Goddess is cleansed, purified, the image of her shown proudly. Across all of Themyscira the Amazons celebrate, but the Queen’s eye is on one in particular.

“You should wear your hair down.” Hippolyta offers the comment, her fingers toying with her sister’s long bangs.

“I don’t want to wear my hair down, what’s wrong with how I wear my hair?”

“So all your lovely suitors can put their flowers in it. No doubt by the end of the night you’ll be so buried in flowers you’ll collapse.”

“Hippolyta-” her voice is sharp, annoyed. “I have displayed no such interest or availability in suitors, and that has nothing to do with my hair.”

The Queen does not answer - she does not have to. She merely looks at Antiope, her eyes glimmering.

Her sister sighs, reaching up and pulling her hair out of it’s usual updo. “This is ridiculous. You think you’re funny-”

“Antiope.” Hippolyta cups her sister’s jaw, leaning forwards to press a loving kiss to her brow. “It is only for the last night. I am not teasing you- I just want to see you let go, alright? Have fun?” She tips Antiope’s chin higher, “you will always be their General. And you will always be my beloved sister. Just...enjoy yourself, alright? And who knows,” she winks, “perhaps there is someone who has their heart set on you. So show them who you are, past all of your many titles.”

Antiope relents, dragging in a deep breath. “Fine. But in the next Panathenaic Games you will be competing against me.”

“I look forward to it.”

Her sister huffs, loudly, and leaves to put on her ceremonial armor.

And the celebration is truly beautiful, as all their ceremonies are, carried with the gravity of belief and honor. That final night, the entire island gathers on the beach, gathered around enormous bonfires, each group spilling into the next, hundreds of voices all calling out in joy, laughter, song, and celebration. It does not take much drink for them to begin to dance.

Hippolyta herself does not over-indulge, instead sees herself urging Antiope to take part, which she does eventually. And with enough merriment, she sees the smile come easily to her sister’s face; and that is when they descend upon her.

The Queen applauds them for waiting as long as they did - but sure enough, come sunset, the first Lieutenant approaches Antiope, shyly offering her a rose.

Antiope pauses, looks to Hippolyta, and waits - to which the Queen only nods, that immortal sisterhood communication of ‘I told you so.’

Her sister accepts the flower, grinning, bowing her head, and the Lieutenant leans in to kiss her on the cheek.

Antiope does not blush - she seems incapable of doing so - but the soft pink mark left upon her skin is as good enough to suggest it. Hippolyta finds it adorable; the Amazon army finds it as luring as a goddess rising towards them, bathed in gold.

More wine is offered, and with more of the wine, more of the flowers are presented. Bright reds, lovely peaches, rich purples - and Antiope, bless her heart, does not know what to say. So she accepts them all. It isn’t just one suitor, or two, or ten; Hippolyta realizes quickly that every single Amazon of the army has bequeathed a symbolic blossom to her sister.

Each time she nods, a kiss is placed to her cheek, and another flower is woven into her hair. Sure enough, soon the braids become overcrowded, and they are left tucked into the presses of her corset.

Antiope looks ridiculous, like a flowering hedge stuffed into a suit of armor, and Hippolyta has had enough wine that she cannot prevent herself from laughing aloud in delight, swaying over to lift Antiope to her feet and demanding that she dance.

“I told you that you had the hearts of your army.”

But her sister is merrily drunk, kiss stains upon her neck, cheeks, and lips, and her only reply is a giggle - an honest to Zeus giggle, from the warrior General herself - “What did you say?”

Hippolyta spins her, both of their feet kicking up sand from the beach, and guides her towards an awaiting group of Amazons, who take her hands and lead her to twirl with them in the shallow waves that lap at the shore.

Surely now she’ll see, Hippolyta thinks, and there is not a chance she can deny it.

That, she’ll admit, is an overestimation of her sister’s abilities.

Dawn breaks and the festival is concluded, Hippolyta rousing from her fur laid out on the sand; the first awake. Her gaze falls over the sleeping Amazons, each tangled with the one beside them, resting happily, sprawled in their beautiful outfits, and how Hippolyta adores them, guards them. Stretching up until she stands, it is not until she casts another glance that she realizes Antiope is not among them.

And so, dressed in her ceremonial garb, as regal now with her wild hair and wine-stained lips as she is when sat upon her throne, the Queen makes the climb to the the cliffs above - the place Antiope confessed she loved.

Her sister is there, sitting upright, arching her back, clearly in the midst of her morning warm-up routine. There would almost be nothing special about it. Except this morning, there are still flowers woven in her hair, bruised and battered from a night of rest, and what may very well be hundreds of lip-prints pressed to her skin.

“So,” Hippolyta approaches, proud, “did you sleep well?”

Antiope breathes in, centering herself, a pleasant grin upon her lips. “I did. Later than I would have liked, but all the same - would you like to join me?”

Hippolyta settles beside her, accepting the invitation wordlessly. “Mmm. Busy night?”

“Not terribly.”

Antiope’s eyes are closed, and her sister narrows her eyes; she needs more answers then that. But Antiope is not one for conversational subtlety. “Antiope, General and Wife to the Amazon Army. The entire, Amazon army.”

Antiope’s lashes fly open, her brow pinched. “What precisely do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Hippolyta fondly pokes her sister’s cheek, “you were offered the affections of your entire army, and you accepted.”

“Of course I accepted, but that does not make me their wife- I would never court more than one lover at a time, such a display would be dishonorable.”

Hippolyta’s jaw goes slack. “Antiope. You are wearing the kisses of every Amazon down on the beach - you have their flowered offerings in your hair, the offerings of Aphrodite, goddess of love!”

The General frowns, visibly unamused. “I know they are offerings of love.”

All is quiet between them for a few moments, their eyes locked, searching. A breeze passes, and finally it is Hippolyta who speaks. “Do you?”

“Of course,” Antiope growls, as if she has been wrongfully scolded, “they love me as their General, as their leader, and they trust their hearts to me in battle and- why are you making that face!”

Hippolyta throws back her head, groaning to the sky, her hands tossed upwards, shouting. “Athena help me for my sister is an imbecile-”

“I am no such thing!”

“-who can fight any war but cannot perceive the affections of her many, many, many lovers-”

“-they are not my lovers!-”

“-give me the strength to never let her live this down-”

“-Hippolyta I will throw you from this cliff!-”

“-this same sister who now suggests treason-”

Antiope huffs like a petulant child, so utterly juvenile that Hippolyta lets herself fall backwards, laughing so loud that her ribs sting and tears come to her eyes. “Oh Antiope, I adore you.”

Frowning, the General casts her eyes over. “Surely they...do not think that I-”

“Oh they do,” Hippolyta chuckles, “they’ve been courting you for months now, and you finally recognized it. Better yet, you rewarded it.”

Antiope’s expression turns desperate. “Surely they will not lose respect for me?”

“I doubt any of them would ever.”

“So...what do I do, do I-”

“Don’t ask me,” the Queen shrugs, smiling up at Antiope, “I can’t help you. You’re the one who is now dating the entire army of Themyscira.”


End file.
